


The Launch of Vingilot

by AnnEllspethRaven



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Earendil - Freeform, Other, Star of Eärendil, Vingilot, sailing ships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 02:22:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20332480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnEllspethRaven/pseuds/AnnEllspethRaven
Summary: Written for TRSB 2019. Eärendil and Vingilot explore the timeless void and give hope to Arda.A lot of drama surrounded this piece and its artwork; what is here with the story now is not the original art upon which the tale here is based. If you would like to know about all that, please see this link: https://www.deviantart.com/annellspethraven/journal/Elenion-Ancalima-843951102 and if you would not, please just read and enjoy!





	The Launch of Vingilot

**Author's Note:**

> Vingilot would like readers to know that landsfolk may find explanation for those words and phrases peculiar to the watery part of the world at the end of the story...

* * *

**“But they took Vingilot, and hallowed it, and bore it away through Valinor to the uttermost rim of the world; and there it passed through the Door of Night and was lifted up even into the oceans of heaven.**

**Now fair and marvellous was that vessel made, and it was filled with a wavering flame, pure and bright; and Eärendil the Mariner sat at the helm, glistening with dust of elven-gems and the Silmaril was bound upon his brow. Far he journeyed in that ship, even into the starless voids…”**

–JRR Tolkien, _ The Silmarillion _

* * *

The rush and roar of light and movement almost pried Eärendil from the tiller to which he clung. Almost. The hands of Varda moved swiftly, scattering and scintillating the brilliance of the starry orbs, ascending unseen in a spray of stardust–and then it was over.

“I am alone,” the mariner whispered, and heard the baritone of his voice faint and muffled in his ears. No sound save the occasional (and peculiar) luff of the silver sail reached his ears. Frowning, he had to wonder what caused the fabric to billow, since no wind blew that he could perceive. He looked away, and noticed the sail sag at the edge of his vision. When once again he faced forward, it filled. Then he touched the gem bound at his brow. The Silmaril was hallowed too, he recalled the Valar saying, and it seemed to power his vessel with its radiance.

Time had passed in a blur. Days or weeks–he could not say; for a hallowing at the hands of the Valar meant irrevocable change. Grey eyes scanned his surroundings. The stars of Elbereth shone brighter here, which brought comfort. Below, a vast palette of blue hues stretched in all directions; the cerulean seas and skies of Arda. Ocean, lakes, and the star-lit lands seemed so far away. Making fast the tiller to its post, Eärendil leaned over the starboard gunwhale. He still could not fathom just where he might be. Perhaps if he stepped over the side to stand at the chain-plates, he could have a less impeded view of down below. Grasping the shroud firmly, he leaned far over to look.

“I would not advise losing your hold,” an unfamiliar voice spoke with the slightest feminine edge to its tone.

“Who is there?” Eärendil demanded, perturbed. “What do you take me for, anyway? What kind of seaman ever loses his grip?”

“The dead ones,” the voice replied unflappably.

Blinking twice, the sailor grimaced. Now his annoyance had deepened at what surely was an insult, before caution reminded him not to permit the entrance of foolish distractions into his mind. Latched onto the lower shrouds, he leaned out. He could see nothing under the ship to support it, nor above to suspend it. Reflecting, he returned to the deck. The desire to inspect the vessel ran headlong into that standstill at which he arrived if the jewel did not shine at the sail. “Well, this is unhelpful.” Perhaps if he secured the jewel to the tiller, he could still do as he wished while Vingilot moved along? Quickly Eärendil found that it adhered very strongly to his person, and tried harder. 

“That will not work, you know. They have caused it to become a part of you.”

“They–what? And who _ are _ you?” demanded the irritable elf.

The sail fluttered high overhead. “Do you really not know? I am your eternal companion, your comrade, your partner amidst the starry skies. Or did you assume you were the only one getting the special treatment?”

“They did not tell me about this,” Eärendil said softly, the enormity of what had happened to him just beginning to filter in.

“The Powers often choose not to. They see a need, and they fulfill it. It does not enter their thought that any might wish to do otherwise. Did you? Wish to do otherwise, I mean.”

Confused, the Mariner sat, not caring if the ship was becalmed. “I have a wife. Sons.” 

“You will see them again. Only not like before.”

Crawling a short distance, he made himself comfortable sitting on a coil of thick line. This attached to the anchor, but for what would he ever need that again? “I do not know what to say.” Fingers probed the gem that now seemed fused his forehead. Morosely, he could not help but think he had become a lantern that happened to possess feet.

“I did not think I would either. I mean, I never had anything to say because I had no thought, and here I am. Here we are. Personally I think this is all rather exciting!”

Eärendil stared up at the sail, comprehension dawning on him. “You are Vingilot. And probably I have gone mad.”

“Not mad,” Vingilot answered cheerfully. “They sent me like this for a reason, you know. They knew you would need help, and this way one of us gets to have a more even keel. Get it? Get it? Even keel?”

The sailor moved to kneel. “Lord Manwë, pardon my sins. If this is your punishment I accept it and...I will find a way.”

“It was not a punishment,” Vingilot said with no further jest or sarcasm. “You may not realize it for awhile, but I can hear better than you do.”

“How do you hear anything at all?” Eärendil demanded. “You have no ears.”

“Oh do I not?” Vingilot retorted, shivering the sail. “The way I see it, this ear is at least fifty thousand times greater than that crinkly thing on the side of _ your _ head.”

“Your ear is...the sail.” Shaking his head, he wondered if by some great mercy a cask of strong brew was to be found in the hold.

“Yes it is. And do you know what it hears?”

“The suspense is killing me,” Eärendil said acidly. “Get it? Killing me?”

A noise much like ‘hmpf’ emitted from the deck planks. “I will tell you, though this is no matter for jest. They named you ‘Gil-Estel,’ down below. For your bravery has given them hope. The Valar heard your plea. You have changed everything, by your selfless act.”

Staring, the mariner tried to absorb this.

“Go to the prow, Eärendeil. Look through the eyes of the swan,” the ship spoke kindly. 

When he reached this location, the graceful curve of the figurehead had flattened to one of a swan’s neck in flight. Walking out on this heavy spar revealed a place to sit securely, and then lean forward. The eyes of the carven bird had been formed of clearest crystal, through which one could peer.

“Go on,” Vingilot nudged. 

Staring as he had been told, he realized it was possible to see the earth below. The lands, the people. “I can look at anything?” he asked, excitement in his tone for the first time.

“Mostly. The depths of the sea are hidden from our sight. As are the insides of caverns and dwellings. But anything upon which your light shines, you may also behold. It is another gift, to help you bear what was asked of you. I can move my neck, see?” The swan head moved port to starboard and back again, before flexing around to behold him. “Ugh. You are far too bright, that is enough to give one a headache.”

“You are welcome to take that up with the management,” the mariner replied sourly. “Though...the seeing thing is pretty…” he chewed at a rough cuticle. “Where is Elwing? Elrond and Elros? And why am I not hungry?”

“One thing at a time. We really should keep on our way, and I would appreciate it if you would unstick the tiller.”

“And I have to go stand back there and do nothing but stare at the sail,” he sighed.

“Oh no, no need for that. I was just pulling one over on you.” Vingilot added happily. 

The mariner’s eyes narrowed. “Just remember, I can tighten your stays enough that this jewel will not be the only thing giving you a headache. You will be begging for an extra set of baggywrinkle. I am master of this vessel, and I insist our relationship not be marred by incessant tomfoolery.”

The silence so silent that it made its own noise pervaded. “What about minimal, occasional hijinks? Surely just now and again? Please?”

“You are certain I have not gone mad?” Eärendil finally asked.

“Aye,” Vingilot answered rather primly.

“Then….fine.”

* * *

“If we are a symbol of hope, then we should shine especially at dawn and even-tide,” Eärendil pondered, idly noting that hallowed or not, his deck already needed holystoning. Well, at least that would be something to do, and he expected to polish the planks to the color of the moon on account of the excellent illumination. 

“So, back at sunset?” Vingilot asked, checking.

“I believe I just said that,” Eärendil replied.

Silence.

“Forgive me, master. I meant no disrespect,” came a timid voice.

Eärendil looked up from the mildly soiled deck and sighed heavily. “I should not have snapped at you. It was rude of me, master or not, and I am sorry. Today has been rather a lot to digest.”

“Tell me about it. Just last week my bilge was full of...you know,” Vingilot replied.

The elf’s eyebrows shot up. “Do I wish to know what it is full of now?”

“Go look! It is so much more fun if you see for yourself.”

“If this is rotten sea-life, mushy kelp or a similar ilk, I am not going to be amused,” Eärendil stated.

“Duly noted.”

A rumbling of hatch covers ensued, followed by silence and then more _ thud _ and _ thunk _ and the reappearance of the mariner. 

“Don’t you look fancy!” Vingilot complimented.

“You knew!” Eärendil accused, his clothing now radiantly glowing with tinges of many colors. “Jewels! Everywhere!”

“Well, I needed ballast!” the ship fired back. “They are shiny and beautiful, and so what if they got dust all over you? What would you rather, stones and barnacles? Rusty ingots? Bleh, no thank you.”

“You are impertinent,” Eärendil glowered.

Just then, a snapping sound came from high above. One of the banners unfurled smartly, and he could see it embroidered with a declaration glinting in golden lettering: “_ I AM RIGHT _.”

For a long while, the elf said nothing, but he blinked a great deal.

“Is it not wonderful that the Lords and Ladies have such a sense of mirth?” Vingilot ventured.

“I need a nap,” Eärendil said wearily. Setting the tiller so that it would not waver (did the tiller even matter at this point?) he lowered himself into a thick coil of softest hemp; their mooring line. Carefully he settled his neck so that the gem at his brow would still shine on the sails, and drifted into slumber.

“Sleep, Eärendil. I will watch over you now, and always,” Vingilot whispered, softly humming the music Varda had taught.

* * *

“Where are we?” the mariner asked with bleary eyes, sitting up and rubbing them. “Is it sunset?”

“We sail the heavens of the morning,” the ship calmly informed. “I did as I knew you wished. We passed near to Arda.” A long pause ensued while Eärendil stretched and tried to rouse himself, for the hempen nest was very comfortable. A good deal of scraps for baggywrinkle and oakum were down at the bottom, and such coziness was difficult to forego. “Elwing came. She demanded that I not wake you.”

“My wife?” Sorrow came over him. “I would much have liked to hold her in my arms.”

“She knew that, just as she knew you needed rest. Both your cheeks were kissed in blessing, and the softest affections placed upon your lips.”

“Does a man have no privacy with his spouse?” Eärendil inquired, only slightly grumpy.

Wisely Vingilot declined to reply, for they both knew the answer. No ship offered privacy, and since the dawn of shipwrights no one had thought to consider privacy when constructing a vessel–as well it should be.

Finally the master stood, staring for many moments off the port quarter. “What is over there?” he pointed. “Why is it dark? Where are the stars of our Lady?”

“I know not, master. The Powers shared no such knowledge with me.”

“If these are the seas I am to sail, then I shall know them, and you along with me. Travel thence,” the elf commanded. “Or must I use the tiller?”

Every timber shivered, for Vingilot produced an extraordinary sound. Apparently the vessel could snort, which...who knew? “No tiller. But my braces...clew, bunt, reef, leech–”

“Point taken,” Eärendil glowered. What was next, a lesson in splicing?

“Sorry,” the ship said contritely. Soon the silver sail filled on a port tack, an approaching light toward an inky blackness. They made great speed toward what they eventually perceived to be an entrance of some kind. Stars scattered all around the expanse of heaven, but not here. The gaping maw of a great tunnel loomed forebodingly, for what lay inside could not be discerned.

“What a strange device. There is no there...there.”

“Indeed not, master. Shall we turn around?”

“I am a mariner, and you are my ship. We shall explore, for the Powers did not forbid it.”

“Do you think they know about this place? After all, are they not bound to Arda?” Vingilot pointed out timidly.

“I am an elf, surely I too live by the same fate? How do we know this is not still Arda?” Eärendil pointed out.

“I was afraid you would say some such thing.”

“In you go!”

Vingilot’s banners drooped, and the sail rumpled a bit–until the braces were set to square. Then the silvery sheet filled, and Eärendil walked to the prow to stand watch.

* * *

“This is a void,” the mariner opined after an interminable amount of time. “We have seen nothing since we entered this place. I cannot ascertain the purpose, why Eru would create such a thing because–” The faintest glimmer of light in the distance silenced him. “What is that? Let me see through your eyes, please?”

_I would rather avoid a void, _Vingilot said almost inaudibly, choosing that moment to noisily shift her bilge jewels for the purpose of self-censorship. Eärendil fortunately noticed nothing amiss.

The swan prow curved its neck back into a far tighter configuration, creating a magnificent effect–if, that is, anyone had been watching. Arranging himself to reach the eyes, the elf peered into the highly magnified distance. “Why, it is Arda! You did not change course on me, did you?” The query lacked any harshness, for he himself had become disoriented as to direction. When one had no reference points and only inky blackness, that tended to be the case. “Of course you did not,” he muttered to himself.

“Thank you,” Vingilot told him softly, for the accusation had sorely aggrieved her. “I would never be so faithless.”

“I...my words were spoken in haste and confusion. I know you would not.” He stroked the carven neck, wondering what he was even doing, but the urge to offer physical comfort was innate.

“That feels nice,” Vingolot commented timidly.

Again, Eärendil found himself deeply surprised. This was unexpected.

“You did not consider that I can feel?” Vingilot asked wistfully. “I hold you blameless. I am a ship, and none of this was supposed to be possible except...here we are.”

The mariner’s hand continued to rub at the smooth wood. “I am grateful for you.”

Vingilot did not respond, but the banners aloft unfurled and waved Eärendil's heraldic device proudly; a six-pointed white star resting upon a pale concentric circle on a sable field. Slowly, slowly the distance was traversed until the azure skies below revealed the lands and the waters. “Wait. That is the wrong Arda.” The mariner’s brow furrowed, which always felt more than a little odd now because of the gem embedded there. For hours before his last rest he reflexively kept reaching up to touch the jewel, unable to fully accept it. Here, only a blink of an eye later (as the Powers reckon time) and he was more than half used to it.

“Surely there is only one Arda, master?” Vingilot asked though she could see the same oddity for herself. 

“One would like to think...something strange is afoot here. I shall look. Very closely.” Once settled, the swan’s eyes searched the lands. “Beleriand is...no more,” he thought out loud. “Still I see the lands of Aman, though. My Elwing, and my sons…” His voice shook with sorrow. “I had hoped they would be spared, and granted mercy.”

“You do not _ know _ that they were not,” countered Vingilot, careful not to say too much.

The mariner searched, his gaze roving all the lands. “I see her! I see Elwing!” he shouted in joyful triumph. “Near...I recall no tale of this island from the days of my grandsire and the King before him? Nor did we pass it when we sought the land of the Valar? Yet there it is. Not so far distant is a tower, tall and bright near the Sundering Seas. My Elwing flies as a great bird! Much like when she bore this jewel hither…” The bitterness of parting washed over him, only for a short while. For his wife loved above all other things the earth on which the feet of elves and men walked and over which the fair winds blew. A crooked smile crossed his lips. A _ quendë _ could take another to wife, but he or she whose heart was lost to the wide seas and the cries of the ocean-going birds and the allure of Lord Ulmo’s realm...Elwing dwelled where her heart would find peace; these pathless journeys that called to him were not for a child of the green earth. Secretly he wondered at times if Lord Ulmo had laid his spell upon the heart of Tuor his sire; a seed that would wait in dormancy and bear fruit in his only son.

“Speaking of sons…” he muttered under his breath. He searched far and wide, and could find no sign of Elros or Elrond. Then he turned the swan’s head to these new lands to the southeast. A vast continent, but his heart surged when he saw Círdan, Lord of an elf-haven, and oh! The ships that he built, with the other elves. “Look!” Eärendil tapped the swan neck. “Círdan! He whose hands shaped you, and whose gifts adorned you with beauty and splendor!”

“Really?” Vingilot said, wonder in her voice. “What...is the matter with his face?”

“That is a beard. Facial hair. Males of the Afterborn all appear thus, once reaching maturity.”

“I do not much care for the beard,” the ship admitted. “Though I am glad to learn of him. He is like my father, in a way. Those other ships...none look quite so nice as he made me.”

“Indeed not,” Eärendil firmly agreed. “I wish I could greet him.”

“Círdan gazes skyward. Why can you not shine with a greater brightness?”

“By the Holy Valar, how would I do that?” He felt as if he had missed something important.

“Through me. We are braced to square. I need only turn hard astarboard, so that my sail faces Círdan. Then you turn the brilliance of your jewel toward the sail. The reflection from the silver magnifies that which lies upon your brow.”

Agreeing, they did just that. “He smiled and waved!” Vingilot exclaimed giddily. “He sees us!! Do it again!”

Eärendil obliged. 

“Ooooooh, another wave. He asks if Elwing is with you? And...master, I believe he is asking one flash for yes, two for no?”

A laugh escaped the elf. “Círdan always was the absurdly logical one,” Eärendil laughed. A real laugh. _ [flash] [flash] _

“He seems both surprised and a little sad at your answer,” Vingilot relayed. “Are you well, he wishes to know?”

_ [flash] _ “How, may I ask, are you understanding him? You cannot possibly hear, sail ear or not.”

“No, but I can _ see _ just fine, and he uses impeccable enunciation,” the ship pointed out.

“Of course he does.” Very amused, Eärendil found himself in an exceptionally good humor.

“Elros...chose...men,” she relayed. “Elrond here...in...Lindon. What is a Lindon?”

“That, ah...it is a land in the east of Beleriand.”

“Is that why Círdan keeps pointing down and making weird shapes with his hands?” the ship wondered. Mouthed words were fine. This...not so much.

“Let me see.” Immediately the mariner understood. “He wants me to wait.” The elf snorted. “As if I am going anywhere? I do not even know where I am, and I certainly do not think I am in a hurry.”

“Master, why did the land turn into ocean?” Vingilot asked reluctantly.

“That, my dearest companion, is what I am trying to work out. There was land. Círdan was living on it, as were so many…”

“What if time behaves differently here? I do not know where we are, but I swear to you that we did not pass again through the portal we entered to come here; I would have felt it. Somehow it is not the same, in here. The cold feels...colder.”

“It does? I felt nothing. Why would you feel something I do not?”

“It may be that the jewel protects you? It is not intolerable, just...different. But wherever you walk, I am warmed. That feels nice too.”

“Really? Well that is...huh. It gladdens me to know that I give you something in return.” Absently, he patted the swan’s neck again. “Oh, I think that is Círdan, and he is with someone. Someone who…” Eärendil watched, understanding perfectly when his friend so far away said ‘This is your son. Elrond.’ The other ellon, eyes wide, seemed to look right at him. ‘Ada?’

“Wait! Wait!” Racing belowdecks, Vingilot heard scraping and crashing and at one point felt a physical twinge when a hatch cover was literally thrown down onto the sole atop the bilges. No attempt was made to replace it, either, but it would be poorly chosen to mention that just now. Racing back to the sail (and slightly out of breath, not that Vingilot would chime in about that either) he held up a tray filled with brilliant adamants that blazed and broke the light of the silmaril into a thousand rainbows against the mirroring sail. “Can he see?” the mariner cried, consumed with emotion. “Can he see? Does my son see how much I love him?” Tears streamed down his face while he prayed that Elrond might understand. Especially now that he knew, Elros must be lost to him, long gone to a veiled place not even the swan eyes could pierce.

“He sees.” Vingilot truly was moved, for Elrond (strong, handsome and regal beyond all accounting) covered his mouth with his hand, and tears sprang to his own eyes. With his other, he pointed, and Círdan placed an arm around him in comfort. “Elrond is happy, master. So very happy. His smile is as the rays of morning. Surely he is meant for great things.”

Unable to wait any longer, the tray was lowered, and the elf looked for himself. “Elrond,” he whispered, seeing that all Vingilot had told him was true. “He deserved better than me.”

“Maybe, lord. But few of us gain what we deserve. Did you deserve this fate? I sincerely doubt it, and yet you were tasked with it nonetheless.”

“I want you to be wrong,” Eärendil said softly.

“I know.” A banner unfurled from the masthead, the fabric gently falling until it covered the elf’s shoulders, whisper soft. A pressure, though faint, seemed to come from the cloth. “Are you embracing me?” Disbelief peppered the question.

“It is a poor substitute for that,” Vingilot admitted. “But it is all I have to offer you.”

Taking it, the seaman blotted at his eyes. “You are very kind to me,” he sniffled. “I wish I could tell him something. I wish I could tell him I love him.”

“I think you just did,” the ship gently told him. “Look again, Eärendil.”

Elrond’s eyes lit with happiness, an intense emotion born of deepest conviction. He extended his hand toward the star, and the other covered his heart. 

“I love you,” the mariner spoke to Elrond from whom he was sundered...except for this. But the star had dimmed, and he watched his son and Círdan pass back into a nearby building and out of his sight, though it heartened him that Elrond gave one last wave of his hand that was most definitely directed heavenward, for he spoke ‘Ada’ along with it. Sudden fatigue washed over him, so he returned aft to his coil. 

“Oh no you do not,” Vingilot challenged. “You have a berth, and you are to use it. No rest have you taken for too long, and you will sleep properly.”

“Who is giving orders here?” the elf said tiredly.

“You do...until...I do.”

“Fine,” Eärendil said with a deep sigh. He went to the cabin, and threw himself atop the warm, inviting blankets.

* * *

Waking, Eärendil pushed himself up on his elbows, before capitulating and sinking anew into the soft mattress. A loud sigh exhaled his body. Unaccountably tired, he badly wanted to nestle further down under the heavy counterpane but felt he should at least find out what might be the matter. 

“Just rest, Master,” Vingilot said soothingly. “Everything has changed from before your sleep, and there is little point to waking quickly. Nothing makes sense down there. It does not resemble when last you stood on deck.”

“How so?”

“Well, for starters, I see both of your sons.”

“What?!” Eärendil launched from his bed, hurriedly donning his tunic and outer jacket. Laundry, incomprehensibly, seemed unnecessary, for his clothing remained fresh and clean whether he wore it, slept in it, removed it or...anything. He very much wondered at his lack of hunger, thirst, or bodily necessities aside from sleep. None of it should be possible, as should not a ship sailing the stars.

“They are grown,” Vingilot added, trying to be helpful. “Elros has assembled a fleet of ships. They are preparing to sail.”

“What of Elrond?” 

“He is elsewhere, though nearby. Elrond serves, highly placed under the Lord of the Noldor.” Her voice tinged with a little pride. 

“Ereinion?”

“Yes.”

_ Thank the Valar. _That meant, at least, that nothing too strange had transpired whilst he slept. Hurrying on deck, he eagerly gazed through the swan’s eyes, drinking in the sight of Elros as a grown man. “Wait,” he puzzled. “Yesterday he was gone to Eru’s care, but now here he is…?”

“Well, yes...about that…” The ship sounded very guilty.

“Go on.” Eärendil spoke far more kindly than he might have when their adventure first began. Already his demeanor showed far greater solicitude. Though he could not yet admit it with his conscious mind, does not a mariner ultimately love his vessel equal to she who he has taken to wife? Together, they are the great loves of a man’s life.

“I came about during the night. Just a slow pivot, really. Spinning on my axis, revolving around my anchor chain, having a marvelous moment with my cat's–”

“I understand the maneuver,” the elf frowned. “I know you were not leaving this place or seeking to, so what of it?”

“It was when I resumed out present position that everything had changed,” Vingilot explained nervously. “It shifted and...I think what is below is unstable, at least for us. Time, I mean. Time is not normal. Things are out of order. I am sorry, master. I did not know such a thing could happen just because I turned away for a moment.”

A long silence ensued, finally broken by Eärendil. “You had no means to know, nor expect that as a possible outcome. I hold you blameless. Besides, you may have answered a question.”

“Oh? Which would that be?”

“The Valar themselves name these places ‘Timeless Voids.’ Maybe that means time itself here adheres to some device about which Eru alone knows. Perhaps He guided us to this place, to follow some aspect of His plan.”

Vingilot considered this carefully. “Thank you. Your words comfort me,” she said sincerely. “Not to distract you, but why are they pointing at us? Down below, I mean. Is Elros not gesturing to us in the heavens?”

“He is.” A broad smile formed, to see the man his son had become. He wondered if Elros had made the better choice. So ambivalent was he toward the Valar’s offer of choosing which race he could not even decide and so bade Elwing to speak both their fates. His wife opted for the race of the Eldar–ostensibly so as to be together for all time–and now he would not be at her side. Oh, the bitter irony… “I want to shine brighter, like we did for Elrond.”

“Aye!” Vingilot answered cheerfully. They both knew what to do and the moment the sails reflected the exceptional glory of the jewel, the men below unfurled their own canvas, heading west. West toward… “By the way, where are they all going? I thought the Blessed Lands were closed even to you. Us. And that only because of the–”

Suddenly the elf saw everything clearly, and understood. “That island. The very sizable one, betwixt the Blessed Lands and Ennor. Which...was that there when first we launched?”

“I...cannot recall,” _ Vingilot _ admitted. “Maybe..not? Things seem to change a lot, and I am just a ship. Luff luff, creak creak.”

Eärendil burst into good-natured laughter. “You do it so well, too.” Fascinated, he watched while... a rose tint diffused across the sail? Could Vingilot actually _ blush? _ Well, concerning some things a gentleman should not inquire. “My heart tells me we are to guide them to that distant land. We will move diagonally downward to port, lowering ourselves nearer. Ensure the fleet cannot lose sight of us.”

“As you wish, master.”

“I wish another thing,” the elf said.

“Yes?”

“You are to call me by my name.”

Several minutes’ quiet followed, though Vingilot immediately executed their course changes.

“Eärendil,” she finally uttered, for no master’s command could ever go unanswered–that was not the way of seafarers. 

Pleased, he returned to the tiller, and the silmaril parted the darkness as if wreathed with the Flame Imperishable.

* * *

Far below, Elros’ heart soared with joy. _ Father knows. Surely the Valar have asked him to guide our bearing. _“Follow Gil-estel,” he commanded his sailmaster. “Follow our hope to the great reward bestowed upon us.”

“Aye,” the ellon acknowledged, staring up in wonder. “Helmsman, make for Elenna steering by that star.”

“Elenna by the star, aye!”

The sailmaster was not nearly done. “Idle hands, lay aloft! Loose mainsail, loose topmast staysail!” The traditional interplay began, the singsong callbacks spreading throughout the flotilla, as they had done since elves and men became learned in seacraft. 

Gazing into the west, with the early morning light of Arien behind them, Elros considered many things. The eve before, he and his brother had met. The scene might forever be etched in his mind. Elrond’s private study in the complex of King Ereinion, appointed with the luxuries befitting the Chief Advisor and Lieutenant of the King. The chairs on which they sat facing each other were carved of beautiful red cherrywood, upholstered with dyed blue leather. A banner with the King’s device of white stars on an azure field hung behind the ornate desk containing so very many little nooks, surely all holding important papers. 

Both knew they might never meet each other again for the duration of Elros’ life, long though it was promised to be. While the twins had accepted they had been called to different fates, it did not change the sting of their parting or his brother’s choice for Elrond–who hid his emotion behind a strong barrier of fortitude. His heart had not wrenched this much since the necessity was laid upon them to part from Maedhros and Maglor. The hated Oath ruling their lives could not be unsaid and the young twins needed to flee if they were to avoid being dragged into sin themselves. Elros, though, did not feel the same pain, for his heart was now granted the Gift of Men–to forge his own path–and he dwelled in the rush of excitement and possibility.They had held each other’s hands, the same as in early childhood. Always they had each other, and now that was to be no more.

For the merest second, Elros’ chin quavered at his recollection. Then he hardened his mind to the task ahead. “I shall be in my cabin,” he told his first mate, disappearing from view whilst the sailors tidied the deck.

* * *

They reached the bay of Rómenna under Eärendil’s guidance; their ships at anchor and their families safely ashore. The goods could wait until later. Elros raised his arms and declared as his heart moved him to do. “Tar-Minyataur I am become, led here by the glory of my father and the gifts of the Valar. We shall not forget our brethren across the sea; in the wisdom of the Firstborn we shall walk. Henceforth should the Star of Hope blaze in the sky we shall bring our strength back to the shores whence we came, lest evil again threaten the lands. We remember.”

Every man, woman and child held their hands over their hearts in a moment of prayer and thanks, echoing his last words–_ We remember _. Most of the adults present were of age to have witnessed the final outcome of the War of Wrath–the refugees, the slaves let free– and determined, never again.

* * *

“Did you hear that? What he said?” Vingilot asked excitedly. “I mean, did you read his lips for that? Because I certainly did and...I guess the Valar really did have a reason for us. I mean, more than one reason for us, not trying to imply that they need any reason at all you know because, Valar and all that–”

“I grasped it,” the mariner smiled, still lingering at the swan’s neck, drinking in the sight of Elros in his new lands. “As much as I want to keep looking, maybe we have done here what we were meant to. In fact, yes, I feel it in my heart.”

“So turn around and go?” Vingilot asked, wanting to be sure. 

“Yes.”

Excited to have something to do, the ship pivoted not once, but twice in the blink of an eye. “See how quick I am?” she asked proudly.

“Is this a bad time to mention I had changed my mind?” Eärendil appeared a tad sheepish but to be fair, how could he possibly know she would do that?

“Awwwwwwwwww tar puddles!” Vingilot sulked. “I can’t win.”

“The fault is mine, so do not bend your sail out of shape. Get it? Bend? Your sail? Your sheet?” he poked at the tiller. “Sheet home!” he chuckled, openly laughing.

“Since when do you joke?” Vingilot asked in disbelief once she could get in a word edgewise.

“Since when do you dance?” Eärendil fired back, feeling completely pleased with himself.

“Ummmm…..” 

“Well, might as well take another look, do you think the scenery changed?”

“I suppose, I...uh...oh dear. That...that looks terrible. Where in the when are we?” she wondered.

“Terrible how?” followed by, “Oh, no. This has to be far in the future. And I think it merits a careful study.” Hours passed. Who even knew, maybe days passed. Sometimes Eärendil slept for a time, but Vingilot continued in watchfulness. The visions floated by, disjoined from one another, but some things they agreed were incontrovertible. There was darkness in Eregion, and Elrond had narrowly survived a siege. What was being done to elves and men alike put the horrors the Fëanorians had visited upon his mother Elwing’s people to shame. If something was not done, all the Eldar in Forlindon, Harlindon and his son’s own refuge of Imladris lay imperiled, for this Sauron meant to destroy them all. Vingilot had witnessed something her elf had not; the fate of an elf named Celebrimbor. Surely a scion of Morgoth himself still assailed the world, for the crime she witnessed could not take root in a sanctified consciousness.

“We have to do something,” Vingilot stated. “Please? Do not require me to see the fall of your people and your own son.”

Eärendil rubbed at his eyes. “It must have worsened while I slept.”

“Indeed, and our star has been dimmed whilst you did so.”

“Then let us give them hope. Blazing rainbow?” he asked.

“I so wished you would say that. Open the forward storage hatch. Just to the left of the prow, with the bronze ring.”

His eyebrow quirked. “I think I know where the hatch is. I helped build you, remember?”

“Huh, so this is where Elrond got the eyebrow thing, good to know.”

“What?!”

“Nothing. Go on, open the hatch, Eärendil. Pretty please?”

With only a slight measure of grumpiness, he did so. More than anything, he dropped their banter because this was the first real time she had spoken his name. Being commanded to did not quite count. “All the jewels from last time?” Amused, he realized that the gems he had previously spilled on deck were somehow here, in this leather bag and not down in the bilge. 

“I wanted it shipshape,” she sniffed. “A lady has priorities.”

Wisely, the elf changed the subject. Kneeling down over the sack, he emptied the contents into his tunic much as a maid would gather apples into an apron as she harvested, carefully wrapping the cloth over them. “Are you ready?”

“Extra ready. ‘Lord of the Earth’ down there needs a swift kick in the–”

“Now now, let us refrain from unseemliness,” Eärendil smiled. He should not smile, but given he had thought the same thing… Leaping to his feet, he held up the gems and directed the silmaril at the perfectly angled sail.

* * *

On Arda below, Minastir stood in Armenlos, regarding the twilit sky. The news from the east had proven increasingly dire these past years, and yet he waited for a clear sign. And watched, ever vigilant. Surely the Powers had not forgotten the elven kindred, or would fail to guide their steps? Men made their own way, but this gift was not given to the Firstborn. Surely they would offer...something? Unexpectedly, Vingilot blazed in the sky, a cascade of colored lights dazzling his eyes. Starburst rays descended to the faraway lands of Eriador itself. Two of them. Two spears of light, where he knew Mithlond and the mouth of the river Gwathló to be. He had his sign.

At sunrise, he summoned his steward before his valet had completed clothing him, revealing to the servants the chiseled muscles of a man in his prime. “Make ready the fleet to sail East. We go to war.”

The steward bowed deeply to the Crown Prince, who held immense power as general for Tar-Telperiën . “How many ships, Your Highness?”

“All of them.”

Eyes wide, the man bowed once more and retreated to notify the queen's commanders.

* * *

“Do we wait, and see?” Vingilot asked.

“I am going to carefully consider my answer, after last time,” the mariner teased. “It is a good question,” he added, to soften his words.

“Thank you,” she sniffed crisply. Which of course sounded for all the world like air being forced through a barely open hatch cover, but he genuinely did not want to know about that.

“Something tells me that we have done what we needed. We could wait and see, or we could venture out of this place, for surely there is more to explore?”

“Restless mariner syndrome,” Vingilot accused warmly. “You sailors are all alike.”

“I certainly hope so. And besides, if this strange place is as I believe it to be, we will witness the outcome in the end.”

“I hope it is a...good outcome. I want that Sauron to be kicked back to–”

“Ah ah!” Eärendil scolded though privately he agreed. “He too will have his destiny. And we shall be here to witness it. We shall see everything,” he said slowly, as the real import of that settled on his mind. “So...we are leaving.”

“You are sure?”

“Yes.”

“Positive?”

“Yes.”

“Super extra absolutely cross-my-stays-and-tar-the-shrouds-if-you-change-your-mind certain?”

“Vingilot, shush and take us elsewhere. Do not make me order you; I feel that it would infringe upon our budding companionship.”

Silence.

“Taking us elsewhere and out of this amazing Void, sir!”

Eärendil rolled his eyes. “That will do nicely.” Then he settled down into his comfortable coil of hemp (after returning the jewels to the sack and not scattering them all over the deck–how many had gone out the scuppers?). From this soothing position, he began a hymn.

_ A Elbereth Gilthoniel, silivren penna miriel… _

Vingilot set forth in earnest at blazing speed, for more than anything Eärendil and his ship yearned to be free of the darkness and once again behold blessed Varda’s stars.

* * *

**Parts of a sailing ship**: tiller, gunwhale, (chain) plates, anchor, keel, deck planks, figurehead, stays, hatches, masthead, scuppers, bilge [ http://www.lexicolatry.com/2013/06/bilge.html ](http://www.lexicolatry.com/2013/06/bilge.html)

**Standing and running rigging**: Shrouds, stays, mooring line, braces, clew(line), bunt(line), reef(line), leech(line)

<https://www.wikiwand.com/en/Standing_rigging> <http://www.oceannavigator.com/May-June-2014/Square-sail-handling/>

**Verbs**: Luff (when a sail flaps in the wind), billow (when a sail fills with wind), becalmed (no wind and going nowhere), shivering (sailing close enough to the wind to cause the sails to luff), holystoning (using soft sandstone to scub the deck planks), tack (to sail against the wind in a zigzag path), set to square (position square sails perpendicular to the long axis of the ship), loose (in this case, to free sails from their ties so they can be used), lay aloft (to ascend into the rigging above deck), bend on a sail (the act of attaching a sail’s fabric to the yards)

**Spatial orientation**: Starboard (right side of a ship if facing the bow), astarboard (turning toward starboard), port (left side, facing the bow), aloft (general area of the ship, above the deck) , below (general areas of the ship beneath the deck)

**Sails:** Mainsail (in this case, the one big square sail), staysail (in this case, a triangle shaped sail that would be perpendicular to and in front of the mainsail when used)

**Other:** Even keel (idiom meaning stable and balanced: if a ship’s keel is in an even position, sailing will be smooth), aye (yes), shipwright (a person who builds ships), sole (what the floor is called belowdecks), fleet (a group of ships being used for a common purpose), sailmaster (person who takes the captain’s directions and instructs the crew to carry out coordinated, detailed maneuvers), idle hands (sailors currently unoccupied), berth (bunk, bed)

Baggywrinkle: [ https://www.sailfeed.com/2012/07/return-of-the-baggywrinkle/ ](https://www.sailfeed.com/2012/07/return-of-the-baggywrinkle/)

**Author's Note:**

> References:
> 
> Elros sailing to Elenna:  
http://www.henneth-annun.net/events_view.cfm?evid=32
> 
> The War of the Elves and Sauron:  
tolkiengateway.net/wiki/War_of_the_Elves_and_Sauron


End file.
